The simple vastness and variety of Western lands stirs something deep inside me. The moods of the earth evolve, ebb, flow, and combine with the activities and thoughts of men and women much as the twist of a kaleidoscope refracts constant interrelated change. Each element of the kaleidoscope’s intricate pattern is but a part of the whole.
I have found myself mesmerized by the soft purple shadows of a waning sunset chased by the brilliant silver of a coming moon. I have wondered at the riffle shimmer of a river current. Will that same golden glimmer be seen by someone somewhere downstream as the timeless flow makes its way inexorably to the sea?  My nose has wrinkled in delight at the dust born scent of horse sweat and leather intermingled with the aroma of wild sage. I have felt the dry cocoon of warm high country sun as it insulated me from the chill damp dews of a clear autumn morning.
I marvel that the bitter pathos, euphoric passion, and inevitable march of life and death which means so much to us as individuals and as a species do not singularly or collectively create a tremor in even a single aspen leaf. It is an irony that the constant of land and its enduring and perpetual power is juxtaposed with the second by second changing face of landscape. I am sure that the physical background to our existence contributes to our thoughts and feelings as we play out the acts of life on this grand stage of imperturbable earth.
It seems I have waxed poetic. I will simplify. All good stories deserve a great setting. The set for my tales are the very real ranches and locations which are an integral part of my life experience. The back drop to the set is what my eyes have seen, my soul has sensed, my ears have heard, and my spirit has felt in the five decades I have enjoyed my love affair with the land.